Stitch by Stitch
by Bailey29
Summary: I will give you all my pieces broken. In your hands there is nothing that you can't fix. My heart is frayed, my scars are open. Put me back together now. Stitch by stitch. AU-DH. Harry brings Malfoy to Grimmauld Place to live with them. Why? And why is Malfoy prepared to help them? Hermione deals with her mixed emotions as Malfoy slowly makes himself a part of their lives.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Hello beautiful people. While I deal with writer's block for Surprise, I decided to start another fic that's been knocking around in my head for a while.

If you all remember when Harry has the vision of Voldemort torturing Thorfinn and Rowle in DH for failing to capture Harry, he makes Draco Crucio them. And J. K. says that Harry feels something akin to pity for Draco.

The exact wording is: _"Malfoy's gaunt, petrified face seemed burned on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort."_

That is what inspired me to write this fic.

It's basically an AU-DH story. I will be using some exact wording from the book, wherever necessary.

**Disclaimer**: J. K. Rowling owns all of it. The story, the characters, everything. I'm just borrowing them and having some fun.

The Dramione romance is a little slow in this one. I'm trying to be as realistic as possible. But it is very much there, so do not fear! There will be some delicious sexy times in upcoming chapters.

Don't forget to review and tell me what you think!

xoxo

Title taken from the song **Stitch by Stitch by Javier Colon **which also inspired me to write this fic.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1: ANGRY**

**Hermione:**

He's funny.

I didn't expect that. It makes it difficult to hate him when I can't help giggling when he says funny things.

Harry has caught my eye several times when I'm suppressing laughter at something Malfoy said.

He smiles triumphantly, _see, he's not so bad_, and I avert my gaze, _fuck you, Harry_, determined to be angry at him for going against all of our opinions and allowing Malfoy to live with us.

At Grimmauld Place. In the _neighboring bedroom to mine_, for Godric's sake!

Malfoy's been living with us for over a month now. He is currently sniping at Ron. Clumsy Ron who has managed to send a whole stack of Kreacher's painstakingly cleaned and polished plates crashing to the ground in an attempt to reach for the jug of pumpkin juice on the counter.

"It's what you get for being so ridiculously tall, Weaselby," he says loudly.

In response to Ron's glare he shrugs and continues, "Well just look at you! You're all limbs and stupidity. You gangle."

I barely suppress a guffaw at this. Gangle. The word perfectly described Ron's unfortunate style of movement.

Harry catches my eye again. I want to punch him.

* * *

Our quest for the Horcruxes was forcibly turned over to the Order after Harry'd gone berserk at Lupin that night. Lupin had gone to Molly and everybody else and told them that we were just children and that if that was all it took for Harry to lose control like that, we were going to get ourselves blown up before we set a single foot out the door.

They had obviously agreed.

We'd all argued violently, but in the end we gave in and Harry told them everything. About the Horcruxes and Mundungus and Kreacher and Regulus.

Everything.

And they had patted us on our heads, smiled, told us to stay put and stay safe and that they would take it from there.

We'd stewed in frustration for days.

We, Harry especially, weren't used to just sitting around and waiting for everybody else to do things. We hated it. Harry and I begged them to at least let us go back to Hogwarts. Especially after we heard that Snape was going to be Headmaster. Harry was worried for Ginny. I was, too. I also wanted to at least be able to study if I wasn't going to be allowed to do anything else.

But, nothing doing.

"It's not safe, dears," Molly had said kindly. I controlled my anger. She couldn't possibly know how patronizing she sounded. She was just being her kind, concerned self.

So we'd stewed some more.

Ron seemed the least affected by the Order's actions. I suspected that that was because he had never been fully convinced that we would succeed on our own, anyway. It made me angry at him. It felt like a betrayal of sorts.

He was content to just lay about Grimmauld Place, eat Kreacher's rapidly improving cooking and laze.

He hadn't even fought very hard to go back to school, or to be kept in the loop about how the Order was going about searching for the Horcruxes and collecting them. He just didn't seem to care.

Coward.

Harry became withdrawn and quiet. His hand jumped to his forehead more and more often. He always made up an excuse and hurried away when that happened.

I suspected that he was purposely keeping the connection open with Voldemort's mind so he'd feel like he knew what was happening on the front lines at least from one point of view. But we never spoke about it.

We didn't speak about anything, really.

The house became filled with a heavy kind of silence. It pressed on my chest constantly.

We'd taken to sleeping in separate bedrooms. Ron took the room that he'd shared with Harry the last time we'd lived here. Harry took the room neighboring Ron's. I took the one directly above Ron's- the one that the twins had used the last time.

I felt our friendship, mine Ron's and Harry's, begin to weaken.

I realized how much I'd been taking it for granted. How much I had relied, without even registering it, on the strength of our bond.

The prospect of losing it devastated me. My dreams became filled with screams of despair.

I missed my parents.

I missed my best friends.

Sometimes I found myself laughing out loud in my sleep at the irony of it all. Missing my best friends when I was living in the same house as them. How stupid. How depressingly, mind-numbingly stupid.

I became sure that my sanity was slowly fraying.

But I did nothing about it. I was paralyzed by inaction. I wanted, desperately needed, to do something, anything to fix things, but the wanting somehow kept me from actually doing anything. It made me so _angry_.

And then one night, about two weeks after the Order had descended upon us like a flock of annoying, patronizing birds and taken away our mission, Harry returned from his regular outing to scout things out in hopes of finding out what the Order or Voldemort or both were up to with something more than the day's Prophet.

One look at that hateful pale face with its trademark smirk and I was up with my wand out and screaming at Harry to get away from the scum. Ron was right next to me, his stance mirroring my own.

But Harry, Harry was still standing beside the Death-Eater that he had brought into our home with a strange, nervous smile on his face.

"HARRY! That's Draco Malfoy! You..you brought him here?! The Fidelius Charm! How could you? He'll lead the rest of them here! What is _wrong_ with you?"

I screamed these things at him while my heart raced and my mind whirred a mile a minute.

Had he been Confunded? Imperio'd? And _why_, why was Malfoy just standing there smiling? Why hadn't he raised his wand to defend himself? _Why was he carrying a bag of our groceries_?

What in the name of Merlin's pants was happening?

All this while, Ron had been staring at Malfoy with a fearsome scowl on his face, his wand pointed unwaveringly right at the ferret's chest.

I turned to Ron in utter confusion in time to see his face suddenly clear of anger. He straightened up, walked casually over to Malfoy, relieved him of the bag of groceries, placed it carefully on the floor, and then just as casually pointed his wand at him and said, very quietly, "Incarcerous."

"Now that that's done," Ron said brightly and turned to Harry. He took a few steps closer until he was right in Harry's face.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLOODY MIND?!"

Malfoy, mummified from neck to feet in the bindings, fell to the floor with a dull thump that perfectly accentuated the sudden falling of that weird, nervous smile from Harry's face.

"Look," Harry began, taking a few steps away from Ron and turning to look at me, "I can explain."

When he didn't carry on with the explaining after a few seconds, I tapped my foot impatiently, "Well?"

"Perhaps you'd both better sit down?" Harry ventured, "It's sort of a long story."

Ron and I sat warily at the kitchen table. Harry sat down across from us.

Malfoy continued to lie on the floor looking ridiculously like he would burst forth in a few minutes having been transformed from a disgusting worm to a beautiful winged creature.

"I've been having visions," Harry said, looking at me nervously for a minute. The admission to what I had suspected for so long should have made me angry, but I was angry enough already.

"Yeah. So. I've been having visions, of what You-Know-Who is doing."

"Since when do you say You-Know-Who?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Malfoy, he told me that they're planning to put a taboo on his name. Because only the people who are really against him will use it. If you say it, all the enchantments that hide you from them, Fidelius Charms, anything, get broken and they can come find you. Pretty clever if you think about it."

I reeled. It was unbelievably clever. And _Malfoy_ had told Harry? He had volunteered information that would _help_ us stay hidden?

"Get on with the explanation," I said. I hate feeling confused.

"The visions. Yeah. You-Know-Who's been using Malfoy to torture people. The Cruciatus. I've seen it more than once. And it always seemed like he was forcing Malfoy to do it. Like he had to be threatened into doing it. He'd say things like 'Do it, Draco, or feel my wrath yourself!' "

"So you felt _sorry_ for him?" I didn't even try to control the derision in my voice. "Harry, don't you remember the last time they used these visions to trick you? It ended up with-"

"Sirius dying," Harry finished my sentenced quietly. "I know, Hermione."

Something about the look in his eyes made the words thronging in my throat evaporate. I nodded.

"Dumbledore told me that he's too afraid of entering my head after how much it hurt him when he tried last time at the Ministry. That's how I know that everything I'm seeing now is real. He doesn't even know it's happening. I'm sure of it."

I looked at Ron, but he was focused on Harry.

I didn't know what to think. Harry did sound sure. But how could I trust this when every instinct I had screamed at me that Harry should be cutting off this evil connection instead of fostering it? I opened my mouth but Harry held up his hand.

"Let me finish, and then you can argue, Hermione."

I sat back. Fine, I would let him finish.

"Anyway, three nights ago, I had a dream-vision. It was particularly bad."

I remembered. He'd been screaming for a good half an hour before he went back to sleep. I'd lain awake all night worrying.

"What did you see?" I was whispering, caught up in the trauma that shone in my best friend's vivid green eyes.

"Malfoy. You-Know-Who was hurting him."

I looked down at the motionless body at my feet. His lips were pressed together, storm-grey eyes wide open. He was listening.

"What was he doing to him?" Ron's voice had lowered too.

Harry seemed to struggle for words now. He squeezed his eyes shut.

I realized suddenly that he had experienced all this from Voldemort's perspective. Revulsion rose like bile in my throat. Poor Harry.

"He…he made him Crucio his parents."

My gasp was sharp in the ensuing silence. A deep, billowing silence.

Ron was leaning forward, his fists clenched. "_Why?_"

I forced myself not to look down at Malfoy's face. Tears were pricking at my eyes. I didn't want him seeing that.

"He was bored."

So simple. So horrific.

"He told Malfoy that he would kill him and his parents if he didn't obey. That he owned them, mind body and soul. That they should never forget that."

Harry began to rock back and forth slowly while he spoke, hugging himself.

He stared unseeingly somewhere above my head. He was reliving it.

"They screamed. I can't get their screams out of my head. Blood-curdling. Malfoy Crucio'd them till You-Know-Who told him to stop. And he didn't tell him to stop for a long time. Long enough.."

"Long enough for what?"

The urge to look at Malfoy was overpowering. I wanted to throw up.

Harry didn't answer.

"For _what_, Harry?"

His gaze snapped to mine with a suddenly ferocious intensity.

"For them to stop screaming."

I couldn't control myself anymore. I looked down at Malfoy. His lips were trembling, tears seeping from between his closed eyelids and running down the sides of his face into his hair.

"And you know the worst part," Harry rambled with a hollow laugh, "I could _feel_ him enjoying it. He loved it, making a son torture his parents until their brains literally fried inside their skulls. He _relished_ it."

My scalp crawled violently. The tears that had been pooling in my eyes finally overflowed. I let them.

I didn't want to. I almost couldn't bear to. But I did. I felt pity for Draco Malfoy.

It made it difficult to be angry anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** So I was too excited by this chapter to wait a week to put it up. Here it is. Enjoy, lovelies!

Seriously, REVIEW! I am begging for feedback. Please please please.

Thank you, everyone who Alert-ed and Favourite-d! Many kisses.

NOTE: **samagnus** pointed out that I made a mistake in this chapter. Tonks is Draco's cousin, not his aunt. Thank you, sweetie!

* * *

**CHAPTER 2: CONFUSED**

**Harry:**

Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy's screams echoed constantly in my mind. Ever since the night that I'd had to watch their son being forced to torture them to death, I'd been unable to get the sound of those wrenching cries of agony out of my head.

I started to see Malfoy's wasted face everywhere, in my dreams, my nightmares.

I hated him. Didn't I?

He was the reason Dumbledore was dead. He was a Death-Eater. He was bad. Evil through and through.

But nobody deserved what he was being put through.

I hated him. I did.

But I didn't wish _that_ on him.

I was Harry Potter. I was the Boy Who Lived. But here I was, hiding. Sitting around letting everybody else try to bring down _my_ mortal enemy. I felt cheated, of purpose, of a life. Here I was, shirking the responsibility that the greatest wizard that world had ever known had given me. Here I was, failing in the mission that Albus Dumbledore had given me, for me and only me to carry out.

I felt so..empty.

I should be stronger than this.

Harry Potter hated Draco Malfoy.

So if I did not hate Draco Malfoy anymore, if all I felt for him was pity and sadness, who was I?

If I was just a boy in a crumbling house who could see into the mind of a monster, was I still Harry Potter?

My already slowly fracturing sanity came suddenly undone.

I just about hid it from Ron and Hermione.

The fact that we barely interacted anymore helped.

* * *

And then, like something pre-ordained, like some strange perfection of fate, I saw him in Diagon Alley.

I was under my Invisibility Cloak, of course. I had just pinched a Prophet from where it had been discarded outside a café.

And there he was, in the bar on the opposite side of the street.

He looked…ravaged.

Nobody seemed to _see_ him.

I didn't understand why. This was Draco Malfoy. Everyone there should have recognized him.

And then I realized that maybe they did. Maybe they knew everything. And they wanted no part of it.

I shouldn't want any part of it, either.

My common sense, which sounded almost exactly like Hermione, told me firmly to Apparate back to Grimmauld Place. Now. Before I did something stupid.

I was apparently feeling extremely stupid, because before I knew it I was sitting next to him at the bar. I was still under my Invisibility Cloak though.

I turned to look at him; spurred on by curiosity and the strange confidence that being under the Cloak always gave me.

I felt sick to my stomach.

He looked so diminished. His robes were faded and worn. He was hunched in on himself, eyes dull, face gaunt. The barman slid a glass of amber liquid in front of him. He downed it in a single gulp and then put his head down on the polished surface of the bar.

And then I was possessed by an idea.

The Hermione voice in my head was apoplectic.

I tried to rationalize. He'll be easy to convince. He was always doing it for his family. They're dead now. He _needs_ this. He probably hates Voldemort as much as I do. He can give us valuable information.

The Hermione voice informed me that all my rationalizing was bullshit. That the only reason I was doing this was because I wanted _something to do_. I wanted a mission. I was a danger-whore.

Well, maybe I was...

I spoke quietly but firmly.

It was a testament to his restraint that he didn't allow himself to react visibly.

"Malfoy, it's Potter. We need to talk." I pressed my wand to his chest. "If you try to alert anybody to my presence, I will hurt you. You remember Sectumsempra, don't you?" I didn't like talking like that, but I had to placate the Hermione voice.

He nodded once.

"Good. Now get up and walk casually to the alley behind Ollivander's."

I knew that Voldemort had Ollivander imprisoned somewhere, so the area around his Wand shop would be nicely empty.

Malfoy complied.

We got to the alley. I checked carefully, but it looked completely deserted.

"Okay," I said, trying to formulate my sentences properly, "okay…"

"You said that already," Malfoy said, sounding annoyed. He looked somewhere over my shoulder. I was still under the Cloak.

That was good. If he had enough strength to get annoyed with me, he wasn't as broken as I thought he'd be.

"I have an offer."

"What could you _possibly_ offer me, Potter? You're lucky I don't give you away right now. They're on the lookout for you, you know? The Dark Lord would reward me."

He was lying. He knew I was stronger than him in the weakened state he was in now. I'd overpower him before he got a single word out. He knew he had no inclination to endear himself to Voldemort anymore. I could read it in his face as clear as if it were written in words across his forehead.

"I know, Malfoy. About your parents."

He balked. "Wh..What?"

His throat worked as he struggled to swallow. He was completely torn up over it.

_Obviously_, the Hermione voice sniped.

"I _know_," I said quietly, "Even you don't deserve that. And what I want to offer you is protection. Asylum."

"Why?"

"Because I think you could do with some," I shrugged, "It's only a matter of time before he kills you, too. Wouldn't you rather be somewhere where Vold-"

"NO!" he roared. And then immediately looked around to see if anybody had heard him.

Thankfully it didn't look like anybody had.

"What?!"

"Don't say his name. They'll find you if you do. They're putting a Taboo on it."

That clinched it. There was no way he would have stopped me if he was still on their side. Absolutely no way.

He seemed to have realized this, too.

With a weary sigh he said, "And what would I have to do in return for this protection?"

"Defect. To the Light," I said simply.

He looked down for a few seconds. I realized only then that he was shaking.

I waited him out. The Hermione voice was muttering mutinously.

"Fine." He laughed suddenly, hollowly. "What's the worst that could happen?"

I shoved a bag of groceries I had been holding into his hands, threw the Cloak over him, gripped his arm and Apparated us to the front porch of Grimmauld Place.

I opened the front door and closed it behind us before whipping off the Cloak. He was looking at the gloomy hallway with faint disdain.

"The worst that could happen," I said, "is that Hermione or Ron seriously injures you when we walk into the kitchen."

His eyes widened.

"Well, come on."

"Where are we going?" he asked apprehensively.

I smiled. "The kitchen."

* * *

After I explained why I'd done what I'd done to Ron and Hermione, I could see that they at least understood why I'd done it, even if they didn't agree with it.

Ron looked appalled. Hermione was crying quietly.

So was Malfoy.

"What are we going to do with him?" Ron asked. "We should call someone from the Order. Maybe Mum?"

"No!" I was surprised to hear Hermione's voice along with mine.

I looked at her. I knew why I didn't want to tell them. They'd just take him and put him in some Order-run holding cell and interrogate him, and I'd be left out of the loop with nothing to do. _Again_.

"Not her," Hermione said. "We should tell somebody else."

"Why not mum?" Ron asked indignantly.

"No offense, Ron, but she's a little…_mothering._ We should tell someone who isn't so emotional. Someone like-" she looked at me worriedly.

"Someone like Lupin?" I demanded. I still hadn't forgiven him.

"Well, in another situation, yes."

"In this situation, there's nobody that we can tell who won't just take it out of our hands and treat us like stupid, little children."

"But Harry-"

"No Hermione. We're not telling anyone," I said firmly.

Her eyes flashed with anger, but she didn't try to argue anymore for now. Ron looked unsure.

"Look, you both believe me, don't you?"

They nodded.

"Do you believe that he's really defected?"

They didn't nod.

I had expected this.

"Good. Neither do I. But he's damned both ways, isn't he? If he's really defected then they'll kill him if they find him. Even if he hasn't really defected, even if this is all some elaborate plot, Vold- that is, You-Know-Who will kill him at some point anyway! I've been in his head, I know! Malfoy's of no use to him anymore. He's too weak, for one thing. There's three of us. We can handle him. You know we can."

Hermione seemed swayed by the logic of my argument. She kept looking down at Malfoy's face and looking up with fresh tears in her eyes.

Ron still looked unsure. But unsure was a common state of mind for him.

"Let's just keep him here for a few days and see what we can get out of him. And then we can turn him over to the Order, okay?"

"Alright, Harry," Hermione said.

"Okay. Good."

A strange lightness filled me. It felt good, to be doing something.

"Diffindo!"

Ron released Malfoy from his bindings. But he kept his wand pointed at him.

Malfoy stood up slowly. He didn't speak.

"Where's he going to sleep?" Ron asked.

"Well, since Hermione is the best of the three of us at spells, I thought he could sleep in the room next to-"

"Ugh!" Hermione's expression of disgust cut me off.

Malfoy looked at her and his face suddenly relaxed into his trademark smirk.

"Nobody wants to sleep anywhere near you either, Granger. I might catch granny panty cooties."

Taken aback by his sudden reversion to Hogwarts-esque behavior, I was at a loss for words.

Ron scowled at him. "I'll take Hermione's room."

"I don't want to catch _poor_, either," Malfoy drawled.

What was this incredible ability to go back to his arrogant, rude self even after everything?

"Well we're all in much greater danger of _that_, now, aren't we?" Hermione hissed, her eyes clear of tears and her expression uncharacteristically hard, "seeing as you don't have much to your name anymore."

Woah. Hermione being cruel.

This was definitely a strange night.

The silence intensified.

Malfoy's smirk had dissolved. Pain flashed across his features before his expression resolved itself into the dull, blank one he'd had in all the visions that I'd seen.

So this was his defense mechanism. Good to know.

"I'll stay in my room," Hermione said quietly, "I'm not afraid of him."

"Okay," I acceded.

We saw Malfoy to his room, and once he was in it Hermione waved her wand in a complicated pattern over the door. It crackled purple all the way around.

"It's a magical ward," she explained. "It allows people in, but nobody who is in can get out through it without frying their nerves in the process."

"Nice," Ron said, impressed.

Her expression softened.

I smiled to myself. At least some things hadn't changed.

Hit by a sudden longing for Ginny, I retired to my room.

My dreams, for the first night in months, were pleasant. Ginny featured in all of them.

* * *

Now Malfoy'd been living with us for a month.

We'd come to an agreement. He would tell us one important thing that he knew about Voldemort every day. That way he ensured that we wouldn't just throw him out to be killed by the other Death-Eaters after we'd learned all that we needed to from him.

Ron had suggested just forcing Veritaserum into him and getting everything out.

Malfoy'd laughed.

That day, the important thing he told us was that Voldemort had put a Curse on the minds of all his Death-Eaters. If their secrets were taken from them in any manner by force, their brains would basically short-circuit and render them brain-dead.

It was advanced Dark Magic.

The message was clear. If you get caught, get yourself killed. Or your brain will do it for you when they try to take your thoughts and memories from you.

The only way we were going to get anything out of him was if he gave it up voluntarily.

Hermione laughs more openly at his jokes now.

We still all draw our wands when he walked into the room. But that was just good sense. He's still Draco Malfoy, after all.

Kreacher _loves_ him. It disgusted me, at first. It was evidence of the remnants of his slavish obsession with Blood Status.

But Hermione had explained that he couldn't help it. It was all he knew. It was ingrained too deeply in his psyche to ever be completely eliminated.

So I tolerate it.

I just never let him forget that he owed his allegiance to me first. A decision that Ron vehemently supports.

"You gangle," Malfoy is saying.

I glance at Hermione. She's trying not to laugh again. She looks away stubbornly.

Ron sits down next to me with a thump, still glaring at Malfoy.

"Arrogant, little ferret," he mutters.

"Lunch, Master Harry? Mister Draco?" Kreacher simpers.

"Err. Yeah, okay," I say.

Kreacher dishes out the soup.

Malfoy is sitting next to Hermione. She doesn't even glance in his direction.

He seems to be in an uncharacteristically good mood today. I'm glad; it makes him easier to live with.

He only asked for the wards to be removed from his door during the day a few days ago. Until then he'd stayed in his room constantly. We'd go in in the mornings to interrogate him. Kreacher took him his meals three times a day. And that was all we saw of him.

And then, four days ago, after he'd given me his Voldemort-fact of the day (He killed Charity Burbage and fed her to Nagini. That same night Snape told them that the rumor that the Order was moving me on my birthday was false. But Malfoy didn't know where Snape had gotten the real date from.), Malfoy spoke just as I was about to leave his room.

"Potter?" he sounded hesitant.

"Yeah?"

"Could you maybe get Granger to take the wards off during the day? She can put them back in the night. I'm sick of being cooped up in this room all day."

I turned to look at him. He was sitting hunched over on the bed in faded blue pajamas that Kreacher had unearthed for him, looking at his fingernails.

So different from the Malfoy we used to know in Hogwarts.

"Sure," I said, and left.

Hermione glowered when I told her. But even she couldn't come up with a reason for why he shouldn't be allowed to at least walk around the house during the day.

She had warded the front door and all windows with a different spell already, nobody with a Dark Mark could get out of the house through them. She'd gotten the idea from one of Malfoy's Voldemort-facts - the Death-Eaters entered Malfoy Manor by sticking out their Dark Marked arm. So she'd worked out a reverse version of that.

I never cease to be amazed by how brilliant she is.

"I don't want to have that prat in my face all day," she'd said snappily, just the hint of a whine in her voice.

"Yeah, Harry. When did you go so soft? I don't like the idea of him having that much freedom," Ron had added.

"I'm not going soft!" I said indignantly. "We're better than this. We're not like You-Know-Who. We're…human. We've been practically imprisoning him."

"Fine," Hermione said. And then her eyes darkened with dire warning, "But don't blame me if you see him Stupified ten times a day."

Ron and I laughed. Whatever pity I felt for Malfoy, I couldn't deny that watching Hermione Stupefy him a few times a day when he started to revert to his arrogant old ways, like he inevitably would, sounded like an entertaining prospect.

So for the last four days we've had to put up with seeing his face around the house. He leaves me alone for the most part. I suspect his gratitude for what I've done for him is stopping him from getting in my face.

It doesn't stop him from doing his best to irritate the hell out of Ron and Hermione though. And since Hermione's decided to just shut him up with a biting remark that he has no come-back for like she had that first night, he's left with only Ron to jeer at.

"Okay," I say after a few mouthfuls of the soup, "I'm heading out to meet Tonks tonight. Ron, are you going to The Burrow?"

Ron nods.

Tonks and Mr. Weasley are the only ones who know about Malfoy.

We'd discussed at length about how to pass on the information we learned from Malfoy to the Order without alerting them to how we were getting it. We knew that Tonks would understand why we didn't want Molly and Lupin and everybody else finding out. So we'd firecalled her.

Lupin was never home anyway. He seemed to find it difficult to be around his own son. The bastard. I didn't think I would ever forgive him for the way he was behaving.

Tonks came to Grimmauld Place immediately, after leaving Teddy with her mother.

She went into Malfoy's room and only came out an hour later, tear tracks etched on her face.

I realized only then that Malfoy was her cousin.

Whatever Malfoy and she had spoken about, it seemed to have convinced her to help us.

So the plan was that when I had information to pass on, I would Apparate from Grimmauld Place right into Tonks' pantry, where I would leave her a note with all the things we'd learned from Malfoy. A note that Hermione had charmed to look like a crumpled piece of rubbish until Tonks tapped it with her wand and said 'Wotcher'. The same spell, Hermione said, that my father, Sirius, Lupin and Pettigrew had put on the Marauder's Map.

Tonks told us that we should also tell Mr. Weasley. He was always a little wary of the way the Order had wrested our mission away from us. And he, of all people, would understand why we didn't want Mrs. Weasley finding out that we were housing a Death Eater, seemingly reformed or not.

So Tonks had gone over and spoken to Mr. Weasley in secret. And we'd arranged for Ron to Apparate from Grimmauld Place right into his old bedroom that nobody went into anymore because the Ghoul was living there now, and leave a similar note, except it revealed itself when Mr. Weasley said 'Sparkplug'.

Tonks and Mr. Weasley pass on the information to the rest of the Order as if they heard it during Tonks' spy missions under a strong Disillusionment Charm into Diagon Alley or from snippets of conversation Mr. Weasley had heard in the Ministry.

Nobody from the Order ever comes very often to see us in Grimmauld Place anymore, which helps to keep Malfoy hidden. They're all sick of our sullen, accusatory expressions whenever we see any of them.

Mrs. Weasley comes once in a while with food or news of Ginny, Bill, Fleur, Charlie and the twins, but she never stays for long, and Malfoy's always safely in his room on these occasions.

Hermione is sipping her soup with an expression of distaste that I know has nothing to do with the soup itself, which is tomato- delicious, and everything to do with the fact that she will have to be alone with Malfoy for a few hours tonight.

But there's nothing that can be done about that.

We eat the rest of lunch in silence, but a companionable silence, which is something that has been sorely lacking from this house before I brought Malfoy here. Something about having a purpose has brought us back together again.

Dessert is hot fudge sundae. Malfoy steals the cherry from on top of Hermione's.

"Not afraid you'll catch Mudblood germs?" she asks sweetly.

Ron and I share a look.

Malfoy just smirks and pops the cherry into his mouth and rolls it around in a way that looks vaguely vulgar. Ron emits a muffled sound of disgust that perfectly complements the tone of my thoughts. What a creep.

He sticks out his tongue slightly at her, and on it is the cherry stalk, perfectly knotted.

"Can you do that?" he challenges. I laugh. So juvenile.

But it seems nobody else found that funny.

Ron is glaring. His ears are turning an alarming shade of red and his nostrils are flared.

Malfoy is still looking at Hermione. His eyelids are lowered halfway and the tip of his tongue is still out, the knotted cherry stalk on it.

Is he…? No. He wouldn't. With _Hermione_? No way.

But Hermione… Hermione seems to be at a loss for words.

That's new.

And her gaze is riveted on the knotted cherry stalk.

Her cheeks begin to turn pink.

Wait. _Wait just one minute_.

Her gaze is riveted on the cherry stalk.. or on.. _NO. FUCKING. WAY_.

What happened to Stupefying him ten times a day?

Ron clears his throat loudly, his nostrils flared to an abnormal size, the tops of ears practically _glowing_ scarlet.

With a jerk, Hermione turns to look at Ron, looking like she'd been slapped. She looks down quickly at her bowl of now half-melted ice cream.

Malfoy takes the cherry stalk and puts it down on the side of the plate. He is smiling quietly.

Without meeting either of our eyes, Hermione pushes her plate away. "I'm done," she says, her voice weirdly high-pitched, and hurries away.

"Me too," Ron says, his voice a low, threatening rumble. He stalks away, staring daggers at Malfoy, who is still smiling an inexplicable, secretive smile.

_What?_

I'm so confused.

* * *

**AN:**

Malfoy and a cherry stalk. I had to write it in the minute the image formed in my head.

Talented, isn't he? Hermione will find out just how talented soon enough. *wink*


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: Hi there, beautiful people. I'm sorry this has taken so long.

I don't know how I feel about this chapter. I hope you like it.

Review please. Your feedback keeps me going.

Thank you for reading! *bear hug*

* * *

**CHAPTER 3: GUILT**

**Draco:**

Weasley embraces Granger for an extra minute before he heads out with Har-..um..Potter.

I snort quietly when he shoots me a challenging glare over her shoulder, his nose buried in her coffee curls. There's no need for him to hug her _at_ me. It's not my fault that she'd been so..perturbed..by my little trick with the cherry stem.

I can't deny that her reaction pleased me, though. It had been fun to ruffle Granger's feathers. She tries so hard to pretend like she isn't affected by me at all. Like I don't infuriate the fuck out of her.

But strangely, the cherry stem thing hadn't infuriated her.

The way she'd stared at it, riveted, a blush staining her cheeks pink. If I didn't know better, I'd say it had _excited_ her.

I shake my head. Granny Panties Granger turned on? Not possible.

More like I had offended her prudish sensibilities with my vulgar behavior.

It was fun.

I decide to do it more often.

She's sitting in the Living Room now, reading. Doing her damnedest to ignore me.

This is the first time that Potter and Weasley have gone to meet their respective person at the same time. Apparently the information that I've given them over the past week is too important to risk it not reaching everybody in the Order as quickly as possible.

I'd told them what I'd heard Aunt Bella and some of the other Death Eaters discussing. A mass attack on Muggle London, aimed at drawing out the members of the Light. Something about things getting too quiet. They didn't understand why the Order wasn't trying to attack them.

But the Dark Lord is away on his own mysterious mission, which meant that this attack will be unsanctioned. It's going to make him _very_ angry if they end up fucking things up. But they're getting bored. And reckless, apparently.

I'd also told Potter about the Snatchers. They're anxious to get that information across to their Mudbl-er-Muggle friends who were on the run from the Ministry.

So here I am, stuck all alone with Fuzzhead for the night.

I throw myself into the armchair across from hers. She doesn't even look up.

I watch her for a minute, marvelling that Weaselby finds anything even remotely attractive about her. She's in the most ugly pajamas I have ever seen- heavy, plaid things that make me uncomfortable just looking at them. Her hair is in its usual bird's nest state.

I suppose the way she moves her lips slightly as she reads could be seen as pleasant, if you're the kind of person who could find _anything_ pleasant about her.

And how her eyelashes are so long that they actually cast tiny shadows of their own on the smooth skin of her face. Maybe that's what Weaselby likes about her.

She's been spending a lot of time reading that small, ancient-looking copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Trying to make up for being brought up Muggle, are we?" I ask. "Any witch who was brought up right knows these stories by heart."

Her hands grip the book a tighter, the tips of the fingers whitening.

I'm getting to her.

Good.

"You know," I say, raising my voice a little, "if you spent a little less time being a colossal bore and a little more on Weaselby, you might actually find new ways to pass all your free time. Or are you actually dull enough to prefer books over, ahem, some _action_?"

She looks up at me sharply, eyes flashing with anger.

She gets angry so easily these days.

"Though _why_ Weaselby would want action of any sort from _you,_ I cannot fathom," I sneer, "but then again it's obvious that he was dropped on his head a fair few times as a baby, so maybe he's turned on by granny panties."

She slams the book down on the side table and stands up to leave the room.

"Is that all it takes? And you were planning on running off with those two to kill the Dark Lord all on your own with _this_ sky-high level of tolerance, were you?" I challenge, irritated that she isn't engaging me. It's no fun if she just leaves the room every time I anger her.

"_Yes!_" she hisses, whirling back around to face me, "yes that is exactly what we were planning on doing. And we would have succeeded. We _will_ succeed. Do you know why, you arrogant little ferret?"

Finally.

I cock my head and smirk, knowing how much that irritates her.

She clenches her fists.

"I'll tell you why. Because Harry is the bravest man I have ever known. He's destined to kill You-Know-Who. He's won against him in the past. He will again. I believe in him."

_I believe in him._

Irrational anger, hot and sudden, lances through me.

I find myself on my feet, words bred from the dark place in my mind crowding my throat, spilling out through my lips.

"Stupid, _foolish_ girl. Do you really think Potter can kill him? Are you that naive? The Dark Lord's power is infinite. I have seen it. I have _felt_ it. Potter may have won against him before, but he won't this time. I _guarantee_ it. The Dark Lord has never been stronger. Do yourselves a favor and give up. Run. Hide. And hope to the Gods that when he does come for you, for us now that I'm stuck here, that the death is quick and painless. But knowing him, it won't be."

The blood rising to her face and turning her cheeks a dark cherry-pink is born of fury this time. Her wand is in her hand.

"_The Dark Lord, The Dark Lord_," she mocks, "you are so _blind_. You're like his slave. After everything that you have seen, everything that he's done to you, you still believe that he will win. Why are you here then? Why are you helping us?"

I don't answer.

"Oh, that's right," she says, nodding, "Self-preservation. The same reason why you won't just tell us everything we need to know all at once. Do you have any idea how many lives you could save, just by giving us all the information we need? How much pain you could prevent from being caused? How many people you could save from the same fate as your parents?"

"DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT MY PARENTS!"

The edges of my vision become tinted with red. How dare she?

"HE KILLED THEM!" she screams back, a vein sticking out in her neck, "MADE YOU TORTURE THEM AND-"

She's flying back across the room, crashing into the wall and falling to the floor. I drop my extended wand arm in surprise.

But she'd deserved it.

I walk over to her. My blood is still boiling, thundering in my ears.

She sits up, wincing. She looks up at me, anger and fear in her gaze.

I crouch, bringing my face level with hers, "If you dare bring up my parents again, if I hear their names or what happened to them on your Mudblood lips even _once_ more, I will kill you."

She draws back. The fear and anger from just a second ago become replaced by iciness.

She stands up. "No, you won't."

"You don't kn-"

"No," she interrupts quietly, looking down at me - I remain crouched on the floor - , "you won't. Self-preservation, remember?"

I don't have a response to that.

She's right.

Fuck.

She smiles coldly. "So you will hear what I say and deal with what I do. You can rage and scream and throw tantrums. You can taunt me and infuriate Ron all day. But none of that, _nothing_, is ever going to take away from the fact that you have _nobody_. You, Draco Malfoy, are at our mercy."

I try to ignore the pain in my chest. My rage is ebbing, seeping away. Another emotion floods me, bleak and grey. It makes me want to curl up and disappear into the ground.

Humiliation.

"The information you are giving us is of some help. But make no mistake, Malfoy, _we_ are doing _you_ a favor. There is no doubt that You-Know-Who would have killed you off at some point if you'd stayed there. And there is even less doubt that we will win this War. Harry is destined to defeat your precious Dark Lord. And Ron and I will be there for him, with him, every step of the way. That's what you do for the people you love. You make sacrifices." She shook her head, "Not that you would know the first thing about that."

Ouch.

She lowers herself to the floor, copying my movement from just a few minutes ago. "And if you raise your wand at me ever again, _I_ will kill _you_."

She stands up again, and spins around to leave.

"One more thing," she says, turning half-way, her face in profile, "while I find it difficult to be bothered, let alone hurt, by anything you say, if either of the boys hear you calling me a 'Mudblood', they will at least seriously injure you."

She turns her back to me again, but continues speaking as she walks away, her voice misleadingly gentle.

"I'm going to bed now. You should reconsider your priorities, Malfoy. Before it's too late."

I sit back against the wall, reeling. What happened to timid Granger from Hogwarts?

And then I remember her fist connecting with my nose with a sickening crunch only a few years ago.

Not so timid after all.

But she had never been this quick to anger, this cruel. This ballsy.

I regret the Mudblood slip-up. I've been training myself mentally ever since I came to live here to stop using that word. It wouldn't do to have them cursing me ten times a day everyday, which was how often I was used to saying it.

_You should reconsider your priorities…before it's too late._

I snort. If only it were that easy.

_Self preservation, remember._

So oddly Slytherin, the way she had been thinking along that vein.

I'm going to have to watch myself around her. She'd changed.

I rub my eyes and stand up.

The door to my room crackles purple around the edge as I enter; the ward is in place.

I undress and lie down on the bed, feeling hollow.

A small noise begins to filter through the walls of my room. I get off the bed with a groan and make my towards what seems to be the direction that the sound is coming from.

I end up with my ear stuck to the wall that separated my room from Granger's.

She's crying.

I have never heard this before, and I've been staying here for a month. This is the first night in a whole month that Granger is crying herself to sleep.

I did that.

I wait for the feeling of triumph. For all of her newfound balls, I've managed to make her cry. I've won.

Haven't I?

Why don't it feel like it?

I lie back down and cast a _Silencio._

_Shouldn't have raised your wand against her. Stupid stupid stupid. _

_Shouldn't have called her a Mudblood._

_I'm sorry, Granger..._

Sleep claims me.

I am startled awake by loud, hurried footsteps on the stairs.

Weasely bursts into my room, his chest heaving. "Get up."

"What? Why?"

"Hermione and I have to go somewhere and we obviously can't leave you here alone so you're coming with us," he says, his words rushing into each other in his hurry, "now get the fuck up."

I clamber out of bed and dress quickly, the urgency in his voice registering slowly through my sleepy haze.

Granger is in my doorway, now, removing the ward.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my curiosity peaked by how frantic their behaviour was.

"Don't ask questions," she snaps, whipping around and hurrying away.

Fine. I'll see when we get there, wherever 'there' was.

I join them by the front door. They aren't carrying any luggage. It isn't going to be a long trip then.

I sigh. It would have been nice to get out of this gloomy house for a few days.

"Go first. I'll bring him by Side-Along," Granger says. Weasley nods.

Weasley gives Kreacher some instructions and then we crowd onto the front porch. The Death-Eaters waiting around the house always fill me with abject terror. I force myself not to look at them, reminding myself that they could not see me.

Weasley Disapparates first, his departing glance at Granger so filled with myriad emotions that it makes me want to look away. Then she takes my arm and turns on the spot and we enter the constricting darkness.

Suddenly somebody screams, shrill and terrified.

_Granger? _

A glimpse of a small house, Weasley outside the front door.

Constricting darkness again. Granger screaming louder.

_What the fuck._

Another glimpse of a place. A darkened street, completely deserted. A flash of light. An angry shout.

Constricting darkness again.

Something slicing into my chest. Pain. Burning pain. Like Sectumsempra but deeper.

The darkness no longer constricting, swallowing me whole.

* * *

**Hermione:**

The moonlight shines silver through the leaves of the forest that we Apparate into. I feel Malfoy fall to the ground with a dull thud, but I cannot look at him right now. My mind is whirling with horror.

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

It had all happened so fast. I'd taken Malfoy's arm to Disapparate to Tonks and Lupins' after Ron, but I'd lost balance slightly. My foot slipped off the top step of the porch, and then when I Disapparated I'd felt it. An extra weight, a hand clamped on my ankle.

_Death-Eater._

I'd Disapparated from Tonks and Lupin's the second we reached, making sure the Death-Eater was still holding onto me, praying that he hadn't seen the cottage and Ron standing on the porch.

He'd realized that I was taking him away from my true destination and tried to stop me from Disapparating, clawing at my ankle and calf violently.

I'd thought of Tottenham Court Road and we were there and then I hexed him. He let go of me and I Disapparated immediately to the first place I could think of. And here we were- the forest we'd camped in for the Quidditch World Cup.

I stumble forward a few steps blindly, the ground squelching under my shoes. What's going to happen to Ron? Had the Death-Eater seen the house? What will he assume? Where is Harry? Can I go back?

_Not safe_, my instincts scream. There are Fidelius Charms on the homes of all the Order members, and the one on Lupin and Tonks' is broken if the Death-Eater saw the house in the instant before I Disapparated.

But Ron is there right now. He's in danger.

Fear rises in a wave so powerful it nearly overcomes me. I breathe deeply through my nose, trying to forestall the panic attack.

_Okay, Hermione. Think. Tonks is there. Ron saw you Apparate and Disapparate. He'll figure it out. They'll leave and go someplace safe. _

_But where is Harry?!_

_Why is the ground squelching? It's not raining-_

"OH NO, _MALFOY_!"

I drop to my knees beside Malfoy's prone form. His blood has soaked the grass in an alarmingly large patch around his chest. His robes are matted with it.

Oh Godric he's been splinched.

He doesn't stir as I rip his shirt open, his face draining rapidly of colour.

I gasp loudly. There is hole in the left side of his chest. The flesh and skin seem to have been sliced away by a sharp knife. It is filled with blood that is leaking in thick streams down the side of his chest and onto the grass into the widening pool that has soaked the knees of my jeans.

I shudder. Under the bleak moonlight, the blood looks black against the deathly white of Malfoy's skin.

The tears that have been welling from my eyes begin to blind me. I blink them away and grab my wand. It slips out of my grasp; my hand is slick with Malfoy's blood. I pick it up again and siphon off the blood from the wound. Next, I take out my beaded bag and retrieve the Dittany from it.

Within seconds, the gaping lesion is covered with a new layer of skin. I rip a few pieces of cloth from the hem of my tunic and bandage it up.

I sit back on my haunches, suddenly bone tired as the adrenaline stops pumping through my veins. Fighting the exhaustion, I stand up slowly and cast every protective spell and enchantment that I know before erecting the tent that I have brought in my Bag of Holding.

There is no way I can do any Apparating until Malfoy heals a little, so I might as well make us comfortable for the rest of the night.

Guilt eats at me as I Levitate Malfoy's body into the tent and onto one of the beds.

I try to remind myself that I'd been trying to shake off a Death Eater and had been almost overcome with worry for Harry from the minute Ron had burst into my room back at Grimmauld Place so I can't be blamed for being preoccupied during the Apparition. But the guilt persists.

Malfoy is shivering. He is still half-clad, his shirt unbuttoned and thickly matted with now-drying blood. His chest is bare save for my makeshift bandage.

I remove what's left of Malfoy's shirt, ball it up and throw it into a corner of the tent. He shivers harder, now only wearing thin, black slacks. I cover him with a thick blanket and conjure some blue flames in a little jar that I place on the floor beside his bed. In the flickering light of the tiny fire, his face looks even more pallid. His breathing is almost imperceptible. But I don't feel confident trying any of the Healing spells that I have read about; they can go horribly wrong if performed improperly.

A small voice in my head asks whether I'd somehow splinched him on purpose. Retaliation for what he'd done earlier tonight.

I think back to the argument. It feels like it happened days ago instead of only a couple of hours.

He'd thrown me against the wall. _Hard._

_.. on your Mudblood lips .. I will kill you._

But then I had been extremely cruel to him. He'd deserved it, but that didn't change the fact that I'd hit him below the belt repeatedly. I'd noticed, with a small but distinct amount of pleasure, the flashes of pain on his face when I'd reminded him of his destitution.

Thinking about it now, it makes my stomach roil unpleasantly. When had I become the kind of person who enjoyed hurting people, no matter how much they might deserve it?

I lie down and close my eyes. Sleep does not come to me. Harry and Ron's faces swim to the forefront of my consciousness, making my chest constrict with apprehension.

_My boys. I hope you're safe. _

I hear a small whimper from the bed across from mine. My heart lurches.

I whisper into the darkness, "I'm sorry, Malfoy," before I finally doze off.

* * *

**AN:** Where do you think Harry is?


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